Mayhem of the Miserables!
By
M. Prabhakar Rao
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
GreenTek Indika on Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by M. Prabhakar Rao
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Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Further no part of this or in full should be reproduced in form, in print or digital – without prior permission from the Author. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
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Mayhem Of The Miserables!
INDEX
01) INDEX
02) Author’s Note
03) Prologue
04) The Secular Robber!
a. The Man!
b. His Palace!
05) The Rainbow Merchandiser!
a. Junior: The Gobbling Goblin!
b. In Defense of Hyderabadis!
c. The Midday Melee!
06) The Placement Prince!
a. The Diverse Antecedents!
b. The Pathetic Indian Farmer!
c. The Sad Artisans and Other Unemployed!
d. The Mysterious Disappearance!
e. The Investigation!
07) The Publisher!
a. Arrested and Out on Bail!
b. The Comprehensive Judicial Vacancies!
08) The Magician of Mumbai!
09) The Corporate King!
a. Board Meets!
b. Along Came A Toughnut!
c. Travel to Cochin!
d. The Battle of Butts!
e. The Temporary Charge!
10) The Ring And The Leaders!
a. The National Scrap Network!
b. The Lifting of Materials!
c. The Maharastra Auctions!
d. The Battle of Wits!
e. The Needs of the Highwaymen!
f. The Public Issue!
11) The Legal Smuggling!
a. The Missing Vessel!
b. The Pilgrimage to Dwarka!
c. The Trick of the Trade!
d. Poverty the Vitiator of all Welfare Policies!
e. The Welfare-State & The Fourth Estate!
f. Application to BIFR!
12) The Vice Chancellor!
13) Epilogue!
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Author’s Note!
The primary objective of this novella – which also happens to be my first one in this genre – is to entertain you through unravelling the dynamics of the rarely- visited, dusky, back-alleys of the Indian White Collar Crime, the cunning, the comedy and the cruelty of the miniscule criminals against the meek, the muddled, the mortified & the miserable majority, who have been the mute masses – which has been the story of India! But this could well be occurring in your own courtyard – irrespective of your nationality, especially if your country is fast developing or underdeveloped!
Hidden in the Plot – interposed between the Drama, the Mystery, the Thrill, the Horror, the Love, the Sorrow, the Devotion, the Astonishment, the faith, the Disgust, the Anger, the Tragedy, the Vengeance, the Comedy and all – are my reflections on the Causes and Solutions for eradicating this Socio-Economic anomalies. This is an analysis of the happenings, without much amplification and my surgical analysis of the system that has been allowing the status quo, to be prevailed, for long. I hated myself, while narrating certain deplorable scenes in this work, but stark realities of life to be brought to the fore.
As this is a work of fiction, needless to say, all the characters appearing in this work are purely fictitious and are not the replication of the personality of any person known to me or on any event, involved, by me, personally. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is solely unintentional. Likewise, of any event is also purely coincidental.
And the citizens of those Indian towns, cities & metros also may, benignly, take it lightly as somewhere, the plot needed to be developed and the events to be placed and so, I have set the different events at several of my favorite places. This doesn’t, nevertheless, in any way reflect anything against anyone, with whom I have ever shaken hands with, except that such incidents do happen all over India and may be even across the Globe, all the time. Similarly different names along with the surnames adapted into this work have no bearing on the communities or the people, but done only at random.
If you like it kindly spread the word about this, within your circles and if you feel so, I welcome a line or two from you, which could improve my future works at prmadhura@yahoo.com. If you do not approve any part of this work, please feel free to let me know, so that I can keep in mind of your sentiments in my future edition / the print edition of this and other works.
As I am not, specifically, acknowledging various materials, lifted from different sources, to adapt into work, I wish to express my sincerest gratitude, here itself, to http://dictionary.reference.com, http://www.wikipedia.org/ & www.google.com for making my effort, easier, smoother and more authentic and my special thanks to Smashwords.com for enabling my work to be published, without any struggle.
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Prologue
There appears to be a unique fodder ‘a section of Indians with Foreign Connect’ chew: they have a set-of-common-characteristics – superlative egos, sweeping mannerisms, repulsive boastfulness, poorly cultivated phorin accents, speaking with afflicted tones (as if their vocal cords were distorted by some cancerous malady), a nasty habit of throwing their weight around, a vicious bullying attitude, especially, while contravening all local rules, a penchant for indulging in long winding, incredulous yarns, ‘holier-than-thou’ posture, a patronizing attitude towards, us, the natives, and that everybody, here, owes them something or other.
Besides, they complain that members of several other classes of our society viz.: Nethas (politicos), Babus (bureaucrats), Babas (god-men), Dadas (Goons), Executives of Banks / PSUs (Public Sector Undertakings) / Bluechip Companies / MNCs, Corporate Honchos and Defense Personnel, enjoying life, unjustifiably. Their major grouse against those classes are that most of them get, relatively, fat incomes, security of jobs, free furnished family accommodations, free housing plots, cheap housing loans, vacations, fast cars, first class travel, hospitality, medicare, some with pensions and some in addition get monthly quota of heavily subsidized liquor, apart from consumer items, consumer durables, clothing and all, for life.
Many of us accept the privileges those special categories get, as rightfully earned since, each class of them have proved themselves before their electorates / in the examinations of the Public Services Commissions or other selection boards / excelled in their academics / had enviable professional training / created wealth (along with, generating slush-money, through not only their evading taxes but also through their extensive payoffs to the members of certain other advantaged groups) / mesmerizing the masses with cheap magic tricks, terrorized their neighborhoods, or some, genuinely, sacrificed their many comforts in line of their volunteered duties at the borders, in the inclement weather.
But coming this type of criticism from someone, who throws the names of many powerful Nethas, Babus & Dadas at the drop of a hat, as per the occasion and convenience, who uses his contacts to get things done, who himself apes to become a successful business man and lastly, who purchases the same subsidized liquor, apart from others, shamelessly, through the back-doors, at nominal incremental rates, delivered at his home, on a daily basis, from the defense canteens, by some obliging friends, there.
This is the story of some robbing the many, the story of India that has been, awaiting the advent of another “Mahatmaji” (Great Soul), the title given to ‘Gandhiji’, the ‘Father of Indian Nation’ and inspiration to many a great statesmen.
Many might prefer to differ with me, on some of above views, but that being beside the point, let’s find out what we have in store from the “The Secular Robber”!
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The Secular Robber!
There was this Dr. Peria Gunaseelan (roughly translated, it would mean a ‘Great Person of Good Virtues’, at least that would have been the intent of his parents when they named him so), an Ex-NRI (a former Non Resident Indian, who had been out of India for a period of six months or more and stopped paying income tax on his overseas income, to the Indian authorities), who had returned some decades back – to rescue India from its myriad miseries – via his innumerable ventures! His detractors, who were a dozen a dime, here and there and everywhere, conversely, whispered that he was, in fact, booted out of his adapted Middle Eastern Land of decades, after his completion of a prison term, for some offence – which hadn’t attracted ‘cutting off of his limbs’ as a punishment – to the chagrin of those adversaries; the veracity of that report, however, I wouldn’t know, yet. And also, I never could ascertain what Degree he had or whether he was a ‘doctor’ with medical training or a Ph.D. and if so, in which specialization and from which University – India or abroad.
According to him, he started off his career as the topper of his batch and the youngest, IXS Officer in a large Central Government Department – here in this city, some 40 years ago. He rose quickly in the hierarchy to be sent on a deputation abroad, designated as an O.S.D. (Officer on Special Duty) – with an entrusted duty of the execution of some very important government-to-government contracts in those Middle Eastern Counties, each running into hundreds of millions of dollars with project cycles varying anywhere between three to four years. He soon floated a company there, on the side – in silent partnership with a local Sheikh and started competing against the Government of India (GoI) till he completely eliminated the presence of the GoI, there (now I have an inkling on why he was jailed there: our intractable ‘doctor’ must have tried to pull a fast one on that Sheikh too, assuming he were a moron like me, but what I was not sure was why he was let off lightly by the GoI, on his return!). “Wow! What a wizard?” I never heard or read anything about any such a supposedly well-known personality.
When, finally, the GoI got wind of it all, through its intelligence & diplomatic sources (he said so) and ordered him to report back in India, he walked out of the ‘coveted service’ and stayed back there to become a multi-millionaire – in dollar terms. He further averred that if he had continued with the government service, he would have become a Chief Secretary of a big State or even the Cabinet Secretary at the Centre, long back. Some of his savings he claimed, to have been lying in his Swiss Bank Accounts and some invested in many blue-chip companies and the MNCs – any of which if wanted to, he could just take over, anytime! I was sure of a part of that tall tale to be true, as he used to receive financial statements and circulars on share-holders’ meetings, etc. Now, I know, currently, even if a nincompoop, like me, owned a few shares in a publicly listed company, he too would get that kind of honor from it.
As regards to his IXS background, the same has been confirmed by his colleagues who visited him to recover some very old dues, failing to do so and leaving in frustration muttering some very unpalatable expletives, in different Indian languages, based on which state they hailed from!
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The Man!
His stated purpose of the homecoming was – after having watched India getting looted by the nefarious Nethas, base Babus, barbaric Babas, dangerous Dadas, insidious Industrialists, beastly Businessmen, treacherous Traders, brutal Brokers, wily Wheeler Dealers and some other sections with some distinct nomenclatures, having certain unprintable other prefixes – he finally decided to return to his Mother Land – to take head-on the debilitating corruption, the ruinous lethargy and the rank inefficiencies, that existed across all planes and levels of our Society – preventing it from progressing, socially, economically & politically!
He stood at over six feet tall, with a stout, cylindrical body, walked with a swagger; flailed his hands while walking and contorted his face all the time – as if he was swimming in the air and a pike was pierced through his neck, respectively. He used to sport an ancient Chinese type mustache merging into his Vandyke beard. He, at all times, wore old, un-pressed, worn-out safari suits (a suit consisting of a bush jacket and matching trousers), could be as old as his old unpaid small hand-loans – which pockets burst at seems.
Though he never drank milds, he had a ‘beer belly’ proportionate to his structure, which he would love to fondle, when he smiled, which he never did.
He used to drive a very old, black Ambassador car that made unbearably creaky noises, whose horn, never blew, the breaks - being fickle, would let us know their mood only on the spot and the engine could strike the work, any time of its choice. And the innards of it were of depleted seats, with coir protruding at every pore, while the outer body was full of tinkering marks, duly potted with grey putty, everywhere with black patches of the erstwhile, faded, original black coating, here and there to remind the onlookers that it had its better days. Everybody known to him, used to pass up getting into that car including, his employees (like they had options!), since everybody knew that when it broke down, which was the norm rather than the exception, they had to push it all the way up to the nearest mechanic shed, while the ‘doctor’, himself, would sit pretty, steering the antique.
He was a pure vegetarian and practiced utmost frugality in his food consumption. About that part, nobody had any objection but his insisting the same level of thriftiness on the part of all others, hadn’t gone down well with everyone, especially with one Mr. Pallav Naika. Actually he was such a miser, that he, brazenly, saved on his food that he insisted on eating always at the cheapest joints when he was away from home – where cockroaches, fleas, spiders, ants, mosquitoes and other such domesticated insects would show up in Rice, Sambar (South Indian style stew cooked in Toor Dal / Red Gram / Pigeon Pea with vegetables, Rasam (spicy tamarind soup), Vegetable Fry, even in the Curd and Chapattis (Indian wheat bread burned on pan with any vegetable oil) inlaid with the body parts of them.
Then again, his everyday cannibalism, out-shadowed his ‘vegetables-only food-preference’, for he used to have his employees for breakfast, bankers for lunch, supplier-creditors, previously deceived students, old lenders of small hand-loans & such others, for snacks in between, and debtors (customers) for dinner.
But he never was irregular in his intake of the low-priced and the strongest liquor which was not at all good for an old man of 65 years. Any time of the day any diligent observer could see at least two to four quarter bottles of such alcohol, depending on the time of the day, tucked in his inside Safari Suit pockets and / or back pockets of his trousers, even as he himself reeked of the stench of which he was either blissfully oblivious or evidently didn’t care for any public opinion.
He used to consume the heavy-duty brand of ‘XXX’ Rum, throughout the day, as raw, bootlegged out of the military cantonment area. If he weren’t such a cheapskate as he was, he would have definitely offered the XXX rum to all his visitors, instead of potable water, as has been the tradition of us, Indians.
As if it were not enough, he had an acute abhorrence to any and all modes of cleanliness. Even his chamber – along with the rest of the office comprising, a big hall housing computer work-stations & a small room to seat the office staff – was full of dust, bird-droppings of sparrows / pigeons and cobwebs. Anybody visiting him had to first dust her proposed seat, herself, before she occupied it that was, if she were that particular about it. The toilet must have been cleaned some five years ago, that was much before he occupied the premises, never used to have water (since he had stopped paying water bills to the landlord, long since), wouldn’t keep any soaps, tissue paper or such other unwanted frills. He believed in one doing one’s own thing like “Mahatmaji”, except that he didn’t consider it necessary to keep his place clean including his own high backed, squeaky, revolving chair nor the large, mahogany table on top of steel frame and all the files and such other official things piled up on it.
He was a hawk, not just through nights but also during days. His day started at 12.01 AM and ended at 12.26 AM on the next day, catching up his sleep with stretches of ten-to-fifteen-minutes shut-eyes, even as ensuring nobody who worked for him rested, through his odd-hour telephonic rigmaroles; The worst hit were those who betrayed their privacy by giving him their home numbers and the most blessed were those who didn’t had a phone at home or lied about it, on impulse or on caution! The worst hit of all the employees were a G.M.-Plant (who accepted a family accommodation within the factory grounds – whose wife had threatened to go to her Mother’s place for good, more than many times, especially during nights) and those who used to travel – on sales, purchases, materials management or some other business purposes. He used to call them, on their hotel numbers, at half an hour intervals, during the whole night to rant and rave endlessly, on some or other of their perceived lapses. Not surprisingly, employees used to quit faster than they joined, without even bothering to collect their last month’s pay. On top of it, he had an ugly practice of snubbing anyone and everyone who happened to interact with him, willy-nilly; not even the paper boy, the milkman, the postman, the traffic constable, nor the poor courier boy, nor a passer-by or a stray-dog, could escape his nasty cuts.
He was a great Hero to his only son, an 18-year old junior. He was loved and worshipped by his wife, Mrs. Paarvadhiammaal as if he were a god. All the relatives, friends, ex-colleagues and other acquaintances, generally, prefer to shun him unless they required his wheeler dealing capabilities, of course at a price.
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His Palace!
In his bungalow, in the officers colony, an area inhabited by the present, former government officers and some wealthy hill-men who never served in the government, on ‘Yam Jam Hills’ – comprised of a sprawling but untended garden, the back yard full of scrap materials of all kinds & empty rum bottles; the cellar abundantly stocked with his favorite ‘XXX’ Rum in all denominations – full, half & quarter sized – 100% of which was peddled out of the military cantonment areas of the city, even from naval establishments as far away as Visakhapatnam and Chennai (earlier known as Madras). As he was the head of the Family, his Man-Friday, the office boy, Mr. Laxman Rathod (a lean, lanky & agile youngster in his late teens), who did his work at home more than he did at the office, usually picked up bottles for him and occasionally his pet Son, Master Thangamani (meaning Golden Sapphire ), in short, ‘Thangam’ or even his wife, Mrs. Paarvadhiammaal (named by her parents after one of the ten thousand names attributed to the consort of Lord Shiva), to him ‘Paaru’ and to all others simply ‘Madam’.
But whoever it might be, had to enter in the stock register kept there on the date, time and denomination of the bottle, drawn from the stock along with the details on the remainder of the hoard. They also had to follow a strict rule of FIFO (first come, first out) principle generally practiced in the industrial inventory management for certain materials which have expiry or warranty implications – while drawing his rum supplies from his ‘stock-in-trade’. Err! as there was no trading involved, but only guzzling, to preclude any future opposition from the ‘doctor’, I better call it his ‘stock-in-guzzle?
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The Rainbow Merchandiser!
His known first venture was ‘Gunaseelan Computer Centre’, himself as ‘The Director’ – with six computers’ said to have been imported from London, but all carrying for some reason, HCL (Hindustan Computers Ltd., one of the earliest Indian computer manufacturers) mark; to the keen witness a sticker declaring “Made in India” stuck-up, at the back was visible and one Dot Matrix Printer of distributed locally, directly by HP. He used to advertise in the local news papers, offering Computer Training Courses in pre-Windows era MS DOS, a word processor & a spread-sheet packages, with job-guarantee, when there was widespread ignorance on computers and there were hardly any such training centers in Hyderabad – offering job assistance. Hundreds of innocent students with hopes to have computer skills and get (assured) jobs used to pay rupees five thousands (US$ 111/-, current rates of exchange and pretty big money, in those days), each. At the end of the course, all he used to give them was a ‘certificate-of-training’ on a cheaply printed letter head of his institute, duly rubber-stamped with a big, round & official looking seal and ‘a letter of recommendation’ to three firms, taken in a serial order, listed in the directory of FAPCCI (Federation of A.P. Chamber of Commerce & Industry) or such other trade directories, available in the market. He sold that futile fantasy to all those naïve kids and their gullible parents – when 95% of those firms didn’t even had a Computer, or had any immediate plans to go for any. He ran his institute – at the peak of it – 3 shifts x 365 Days and minted money like hell! As per one estimate each member of industry or commerce or even practicing professionals like doctors, lawyers, engineers in this city used to receive at least two applicants a Week – all from that Centre.
Such were his persuasive skills of the ‘doctor’ that many ex-trainees became his institute’s trainers with a hope to gain hands-on experience on the computers and might even to get an experience certificate. But, he never took anybody’s service for free, so he used to pay them a very low salary, per month, all paid after deducting for any un-announced or announced leaves-of-absence, by the employees. He didn’t have any policy of allowing casual, sick or any privilege leaves as per the labor laws, nor any provident fund, gratuity or compensation for overtime work, either. Besides – like airports, railways, bus stations, hotels, hospitals and such other establishments – his institute too never closed; not on weekends nor on any public holidays and not even during ‘Bandhs’ (general strikes called by a political party or other, forcing the closure of all establishments) or ‘curfew days’, which used to be, a frequent phenomenon – on account of communal riots, here, in those days.
His signboard and all his inexpensively, printed training brochures, prominently, claim his training centre as having been ‘recognized by the government’, when all he had done was to obtain a license from the labor department, valid for one year and to be renewed every year, which he never renewed, again – when he needed it to open a bank account and. During his first year in business, when the commercial taxes department officials made a customary visit and demanded for registration and the taxes due to them, he stood his ground stating that his was an educational institution and hence exempt from all types of taxes, under so and “so gazette notification which to be read with such and such other government orders, etc.” and that they should leave his property so that he could conduct his undertaking, peacefully, or else he would complain to the minister of commercial taxes. The perplexed officials left the place, never to return. The officials of the Municipal Corporation of Hyderabad (which now became Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation), never dared to enter his premises due to his strong connections and manipulative abilities, after one surprise visit. And so were the Labor Department, the Provident Fund Department and the Employees’ State Insurance (ESI) Department.
After three years of operations, when he continuously refused to accept any memos from the income tax department, an I.T. team finally visited him, at the instance of a strict I.T.O. (Income Tax Officer), to make an on-the-spot-assessment. He locked all his records in his Godrez Bureau (Iron Safe) and refused any access till he received a warrant for ‘search and seizure’ activity. He also made some calls to his contacts in the government who in turn, called some higher ups at the ‘Ayakar Bhavan’ (Head quarters of the Commissioner of Income Tax & Excise) and there ended the IT raid but only when he was through with his lecture on the exemption of his training institute from all taxes, under “so and so gazette notification which to be read with such and such other government orders, etc.”.
Actually, he neither registered his institute – under the Society’s Act – as a ‘not-for-profit’ – educational institute nor had he got any official ‘exemption certificate’ from the appropriate authority (which happened to be the Income Tax Department, itself!), during the whole five years of his computer training scam.
As the going was good in Hyderabad, he progressively opened branches in scores of towns in India. In those towns he used to rent out an old bungalow at a remote place of the city, furnished each hall with six to eight computers (all said to be imported from abroad, but bought from the local manufacturers) and the rest of the place left to be used for housing around twelve to fifteen computer trainers, certified by his own institute in Hyderabad; used to appoint one local person as the branch manager and one or two local help for office and kitchen work for the immigrant employees. Those branches had gone up to sixty five in numbers in as many towns, before they were all closed down, one after the other, only after two years of his closing down his main institute at Hyderabad. He was shrewd enough to rope in at least one local partner, powerful enough to fend off any and all varieties of troubles to his branches, who could be of the political, bureaucratic, business or bluntly local goonda type.
At one point of time, there were more ex-trainees and their elders visiting, along with neighbors, well-wishers and passers-by, his centre, than the trainees currently enrolled. There used to be big cat-fights, some shouting, some threats and some cajoling but at the end of it all, he used to out-shout everyone. There were even a few incidents of police complaints and him being called to report at the station; he used to go there only if the persistent calls were from an I.P.S. (Indian Police Service, the higher echelons of the Indian police) officer, without any worry and used to fight with the police officers also and end up telling them what was law and how they should behave with an IXS (even if, Ex.) Officer and used to threaten them to call up the City Police Commissioner and give a written complaint against them that they had accepted some bribes from the complainants to harass him and that he would even go to the Press, the Parliament and the Supreme Court to haul those police officers, en masse. As we all know that the poor police officers were always under constant pressure from different sections of the society like the local politicos, the bureaucrats, the goons, the traders and the like and if they fail to oblige even one of them, they wouldn’t know from where they would get their next meal: It could be as far as the Naxal infested Srikakulam or Adilabad Districts or any of the water less Royalaseema Districts of Andhra Pradesh.
It would be unfair of me to go ahead with the story without introducing the wife as she plays a silent but vital role in the progressing drama. Mrs. Paarvadhiammaal hailed from a traditional family of Kaniyakumari in Tamilnadu and was married off to Dr. Gunaseelan, when she had just completed her P.U.C. (pre-university certificate, equivalent to 10+2) and when she was just 16 years old. She was lean and slender with a placid face; a very pious and polite lady of mild nature who spoke in lowered tones. She was very loving & patient wife and a doting mother. She kept her house so spotless, in direct contrast to her hubby’s office. Used to wake up early, freshened up, and completed her puja (Prayer) of one hour, by six O’ Clock, every morning.
She also had a great faith in her spiritual guru, “Aham Eshwar” Baba (when translated, it meant ‘I am God, Himself!’), a godman, with a world-wide following and Ashrams in every major city in India and the Western World. She visited him at least twice a week to seek his blessings. He hailed from a coastal district of the state but operated from his main ‘Ashram’ just outside Hyderabad – after his alleged attainment of ‘enlightenment’ while in Himalayas. There were many rumors about that false godman & his Mukya Chela (Principle Disciple), Swami Guruheen Yogi (Masterless Yogi!), whose saga would merit another spicy novella. It is enough to say here, to his credit he has a wide network of Asharams spread across India and Western World, actively patronized by not only the superstitious Hindus but also others after becoming disillusioned with the materialistic life-styles of the Western cultures.
“Aham Eshwar Baba”, whose full name, as appeared on the sign-boards of all his Ashrams, across the globe, in all the printed literature of the Ashram-Trust, the press releases was “Shree, Shree, Shree Aham Eshwar Mahababa, Maharaj Ji” (Two ‘Shrees’ more than any Indian would prefix to any mortal). Even the press was careful enough to print the same in all their event coverages. Since we are not journalists or his followers, to save space we would refer him as the guru of Mrs. Parvadhiammal, or just ‘Guru’.
His mystifying tongue had some very peculiar mono-syllables, detailed, here, with the connected emotions & / or expectations of the guru in brackets: ‘Umm’ (love and satisfaction), ‘Aha’ or ‘Oho’ (laughter), ‘Ahem’, ‘Ahom’ or simply nodding the head, any which way he felt like at that moment (to assure that he was listening what was being said), ‘Ummm’ (angry or resentment), ‘Pleech’ (compassion), ‘Unha’ (resentment), ‘Oi’ (calling someone in within the Ashram, ‘Ohhoi‘ (calling the attention of someone outside Ashram), Ayyooo’ (fear), ‘Aaaiii’ (heroism), ‘Wah’ or ‘Ooo’ (wonder), ‘Aaa’ (thirst), Aaaa (hunger), ‘Ammooi’ (pain) and ‘Hruuumm’ (romantic). Since he communicated in a mysterious language comprising only of mono-syllables, which could be deciphered only by his Mukya Chela; he would never even attempt to translate a few of his mono-syllables for fear of being pounded to paste, by the visiting disciples or even the general public!
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Junior: The Gobbling Goblin!
The much pampered Thangam having born, much delayed, was a pet to his father and a loving weakness to his mother. He was such a voracious eater that he had to munch something or other, all the time, whether in home or anywhere else. When he was not at home, he would be hanging around in some or other eating joints or around the push-cart vendors of eatables in the neighborhood. As could be expected, given his father’s stature in society, he was put in the best of private schools right from nursery class and was promoted up to the seventh class when he had to face a common examination. Even that was managed by his father, through his influence that the school had to send him up, up to the school final that was 10th. Class. That examination being a Public Examination conducted by the State’s Board of Secondary Education, involving external centers of examinations, invigilators and surprise vigilance squads, nothing could be done about his passing that examination, however hard the ‘doctor’ and his contacts tried. After trying a few more times, the father gave up on his studies and decided to give him some life-skills, directly under his tutelage and started taking him to his office, at the age of nineteen.
He stood at 4’8” tall, body, already weighing 79 Kgs. and looked akin to a tightly-blown balloon with an equally spherical face of a buffoon. Apart from eating, his next best passion in life was sleeping, day in and day out, without care or concern for anything else on earth. Mrs. Parvadhiammal used to pack four big tiffin carriages for her son and one small tiffin box for her husband, every morning, as they leave for office. As even that quantity of eats was finished by him by around noon, he would start attacking the lunch packs of the employees. As the employees started defending their interests by hiding their lunches, he used to smell them out and eat them off and even when that had become impossible, he would raid the petty-cash box, grab whatever it had and run to the nearest grill, bakery or ice-cream parlor.
As nobody dared to complain to the boss and also any such compliant would only yield more persecution from their boss than any redressal, the timid employees used to suffer, silently. His employees used to, secretly, refer him ‘Bhakasuran’, a Rakshasa (a demon) from the epic, “Mahabharata”, known for his ravenous hunger , while the correct soubriquet would have been ‘Khumbakarnan’, another Rakshasa from the equally eminent epic, “Ramayana”, renowned for his sleeping for six months and eating for six months of the year.
Well jokes apart, the problem was not his but, his parents who pampered him as he took birth in their middle age, being the only progeny and the sole inheritor of the wealth of the ‘doctor’ he was fed to become, since his birth, like that kid appeared in one those baby food advertisements. By the time anybody, in his family, realized that he was being ridiculed on account of his childhood obesity and the doctors (I mean the real medical practitioners) advising them to cut him down to a manageable size, it was too late.
His father being all too domineering personality, under whose shadow he grew up, he had no motivation to develop a personality or an aim or vigor, in his life!
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In Defense of Hyderabadis!
In those Days (might be even now) we, Hyderabadis, were branded – by certain visitors of some other Metros – as being laid-back in temperament, lazy and slow in learning. They further would accuse us of enjoying most evenings promenading, with families in toe, on Sultan Bazaar, Chudi Bazaar, Koti, Abids, Rein Bazaar, Lal bazaar or any other bazaar of our locality, visited two days of every weekend the Public Gardens, the Tank Bund, the Charminar, the Golconda, the Salar Jung Museum, the Parade Grounds, the Birla Planetarium & Science Museum, or Temples dedicated to Venkateshwara (Birla), Peddamma, Chilkur Balaji, Mahankali, Tadbund Hanuman, Secunderabad Ganesh, Kanka Durga, or Resorts at Gandipet Tank, Shameerpet Tank, Hussaini Alam Tank and such other old-spots.
And we also were blamed of fattening ourselves with fried groundnuts, roasted corn, deep-fried samosas, bondas, Paani Puri, Bhel Puri, Chat, ‘Pulla Reddy (Pure Ghee) Sweets, Biscuits from Karachi Bakery, South Indian snacks at Kamats, Shanbaghs and innumerable tiffin-centers located at every nook and cranny of the city or Cakes, Pastries, etc. at any of the neighboring ‘Iyengars’ and the ubiquitous ‘Hyderabadi Biryani’ (which as per purists of the city to be less than 26 but as per the liberals claiming to be over 165 varieties including, some very fine all-vegetable ones – which numbers were growing by the day) and that some even with kebabs of mutton, chicken, beef, pork, sea / fresh-water food: fried fish, prawns, etc. from the push-carts or yellow / light blue painted tin Dibbas (small shops) that used to be lined-up without any gap, to cater to the evening walkers on the footpaths, along the road on either side – from Nampally Railway Station to the Lakdi-ka-Pul bus-stop (now closed down by the local authorities); that was if they were not touring the North, the South, the East or the Southern parts of India on pilgrimage-cum-sight seeing purpose or even abroad.
They in addition, censure the wealthy of our city of spending days and nights in our famous clubs named after Nizam, Secunderabad, Aligarh, Lady Hyderi or some other Club of the area and the members of the hoi polloi like, me gulping down Irani Chai (a blend of brewed tea leaves, boiled milk and sweetened condensed milk of which some fans would say with mild traces of some dark power, which could well be chocolate or as some skeptics insinuate could be opium, which doubts, however, were never confirmed at any laboratory, so far) while wolfing biscuits having suffixes of Salt, Fine, Tea, Osmania, Lukmis, and bun-items called Dilkush, Dilpasand, Bun-Maska, Cakes & Pastries of all varieties and any of the several local hot snacks offered there, while wasting our time on silly gossip.
On the contrary, some of us held radical counter-opinion, on that: we believe that those who couldn’t enjoy any of the above small joys of life were born without the Josh (the Zing) in their constitution and that they were burning in hell while still on earth!! While the fact was that the above kind of canards were carried back to their cities by some vagrant visitors to our city, who had seen a little of our lives.
The tourist spots were always crowded by, mostly, the visitors of the districts, other cities and other countries and if our citizens too went there was because we are warm-hosts and love to escort the new comers to all city spots.
And yes, the reports on our infatuation with the Irani Chai nevertheless, holds good as the ambience was so welcoming and the hospitality of the owners of these joints (decedents of the migrants from mainly Iran & Iraq, and a minor numbers from the Gulf, Middle Eastern & African countries) was so addictive; many of those cafes used to have jukeboxes, having good collections of Hindi songs of the bygone era, otherwise known as the ‘Golden Days of the Hindi Film Music’; on this, again some believe that it started in sixties and ended only in mid seventies, while some like me would hold that it started in mid forties and began to decay – from the symphony it used to be, into the cacophony, that it is today – during sixties. While we were growing up, we used to spend a major portion of our pocket money to listen to the songs of their choice, while chit-chatting with friends and having 1/2 or 1/3 Chai, or reading Deccan Chronicle (the first English Daily) or Eenadu (a popular Telugu Daily). Most important of all to be noted was that the Hyderabadis do keep in touch with their friends, very regularly, whatever be their current status in society with the Irani Cafes acting as enablers.
Well, as for our businessmen, some, I repeat only some business owners (Seths) of different backgrounds like, Telugu (of all regions of Andhra Pradesh: Telengana, Coastal Andhra & Royalaseema), Kannada, Marathi, Tamil, Malayali, Marwari, Nawabi, Pharsi, Sindhi, Gujarati, Punjabi, et al, sleep late, after a long night-out and start their day leisurely (probably something to do with the city’s water or our home-made Masala-tea), while their trusted Munims (some designated as Executive Directors, Vice-Presidents, General Managers or plainly Managers – not depending on the size of the businesses but of the egos of the owners and the title holders) – take care of everything from the opening of businesses in time, to supervising the smooth conduct of operations, diligently, and the closure of the businesses in the evening or night, based on whether it was an office, a factory, a commercial or a service establishment. And almost all employees too were punctual in office attendance and sincere in executing their assigned duties.
Those ‘Munims’, generally act as ‘the eyes & years of the Seths’ report all developments, promptly, while bada-seths used to instruct them through phones, as and when required. They would make it a point to visit their business establishments, to spend some quality time, during some fixed or unfixed hours, but definitely meet any and every important visitor, at the mutually convenient places. In conclusion, none of them were, ever, lesser in business acumen than any other business man of any other city. Might be such misstatements were being carried out by not so important visitors, who weren’t given audience by these ‘bada-seths’.
For that matter, even some of us, Hyderabadis could be clinging to some prejudicial views on the residents of other parts of India, on one count or other, which were nothing but based on our skewed assessment of people involving a stand-alone interaction, rather than on the whole-picture.
Coming back to our story, some citizens of our city too seemed to have entrepreneurial streak in them that they had started giving tough competition to our ‘doctor’ – as we were hardly the type-caste the others propagated us to be; they had cut his market down, playing the same game with the same vulnerable students (quite a few such people do it, even now).
I wish I were wrong, but, whenever I see such signboards offering Training in a domain or other, with live projects and / or Job Assurance packages or even displaying a tag of ‘recognized by the government’– in other parts of India – I get a nagging feeling, almost reminiscent of a heavy guilt overwhelming my heart, whether my Hyderabadi Comrades hadn’t exported that decease to the capitalists of the rest of India, too, as governments, here, do not accord any accreditation to any private training institution, except through a standard procedure and such accredited agency should display the certificate-of-accreditation, prominently in their registered office.
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The Midday Melee!
There were many clashes of physical nature between him and the well wishers of his ex-students who were resentful of his wicked practices but one such event that took place during the midday hours of a particular day was a very memorable to all his staff, especially, to Mrs. Annamma Soloman, the oldest employee of all – as it not only lasted for over six hours but also was actively participated, fiercely, by the ‘doctor’, Thangam and Laxman with, though passively by Mrs. Soloman & the training staff, on that side and the ex-students, their friends, relatives, neighbors, other well wishers and some passers-by, on the other side!
On that day too, or rather the midday, a few ex-students along with their parents and others – lead by an old Gandhian gentleman, Purushotham Rao Jadhav, from the Old City, had entered the office with a determination of sitting in a ‘Satyagraha’ (the wrath of truth), popularly known as ‘Dharna (peaceful protest)’, in the chamber of the ‘doctor’ – till he paid them back, their fee. The ‘doctor’ told them, bluntly, that they could sit there for as long as they want and that he wouldn’t pay them anything as he had already trained their wards for 2 hours a day for one full week, as had been promised in his academic brochures and he even issued them the training certificates as well as the letters of job-recommendations, to as many as three companies, each and that his responsibility ended there. Thangam just jerked up from his snooze and chirped in “On the other hand, all your kids, still, owe us two hundred rupees each, against the printing & stationary account and that you should pay the amount before you leave”.